Children of Wrath by Paul Grossman Read Free Book Online

hadn’t replied. His feelings toward Willi were no secret. But he wouldn’t go so far as to let prejudice get in the way of an investigation, would he?
    “Of course any filler must be of the highest quality and possess the proper lean-to-fat ratio. And absolutely fresh. If not”—Strohmeyer lowered his voice as if afraid to curse things further—“the kiss of death.”
    An ironic phrase, Willi thought, considering how many had received exactly that from his family’s sausages. Not that the man’s lament was difficult to understand. The Strohmeyer plant, across Landsberger Allee from the vast Central Stockyards, employed nearly a hundred workers, many of whom now stood about, observing their boss showing another official around. The giant grinders, the commercial mixers, the slicers, the mincers, the huge stuffing machines … all silent. Wages frozen. The meat industry and its associated trade unions on the same side for once, struggling even now to have the citywide sausage ban annulled in court. It was easy to sympathize with their plight. But Willi couldn’t stop picturing the mother of the six-year-old he’d interviewed earlier this week …
    “We thought she just had a stomach flu.” The mother kept folding and unfolding a little sweater in her lap, rubbing it across her palm. “We even sent her to school.” Her voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, like when Vicki had laryngitis. “But that night the diarrhea was so terrible.” Willi’d shuddered to imagine something like that happening to one of his boys. “Filled with blood. And then the fever … and those convulsions. We ran her to the hospital, but—” She clutched the sweater to her neck.
    Over the years he’d conducted more than one interview with a grieving parent. But he’d never, as he did this time, had to wipe tears from his eyes on the ride home.
    Since the first victims came from lower-class neighborhoods, investigators initially guessed the sausages might be made of Freibank, meat cut from the carcasses of diseased animals, sterilized by boiling, then sold via city markets to the very poor. It soon became apparent, however, that the victims came from not only the poorest but also the richest neighborhoods in Berlin, and a number of middle-class ones too. Listeria had turned up in half a dozen kinds of sausages, traced to at least a dozen butcher shops, all of which purchased their products from the giant wholesale market near Alexanderplatz. Willi’d grown up in Berlin, lived here all his life, seen the huge Central Market halls on Neue Friedrich Strasse countless times, just a block from the Police Presidium. But he’d never stepped inside.
    Until three days ago.
    A vast arcade of brick and iron several stories tall greeted him with daylight pouring through giant windows on either end. A cacophony of noise from the sea of wholesalers’ stalls, many hundreds supplying a city of 4 million with meat, fish, fruit, vegetables, all under one roof. Retail greengrocers, butchers, fishmongers, thronging every square meter in search of a deal.
    Willi was met by one of the top administrators, who’d dutifully shown off the refrigeration chambers beneath the great halls, connected directly to the city railroad, and the hydraulic systems that unloaded products from train cars with unparalleled rapidity. He was informed of the elaborate regulations regarding the handling of foodstuffs: meat allowed inside only at certain hours and only through specified entryways, produce through other entries at other times. He was assured that all dealerships were required to unpack their stock at least once every seven days and destroy all unsound articles. A team of inspectors was attached to each sales hall, as well as a medical station with a skilled nurse. No, the problem of Listeria had certainly not originated at the Central Market.
    Not that anyone said it had.
    The immense hall housing the sausage wholesalers was easily recognizable by its